


i just want to dance with you

by IWillNotBeSilenced



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam will never forget that Ronan used to play irish jigs, Farmer Ronan, Fluff, M/M, The Barns, happy Adam, happy Pynch, happy Ronan, irish folk music, rainy afternoons at the barns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillNotBeSilenced/pseuds/IWillNotBeSilenced
Summary: ‘Like this, d’you think?’It's a rainy afternoon at the Barns and Ronan decides he'd like to dance with Adam.





	i just want to dance with you

**Author's Note:**

> Okay but playful Ronan is my absolute fave but so is unsure, intense feeling Ronan and also Irish Ronan and thus, this fic was born.
> 
> Partially inspired by this beautiful piece of fanart!  
> https://pin.it/tk6wwlt3zu6u2g

When Ronan comes in from the fields, shaking the rain from his jacket, Adam is lying on his back on one of the sofas. Frantic Irish fiddle music crackles from the gramophone in the corner. Adam’s hands rest on his ribs and his eyes are closed, a smile playing on his lips.

Ronan allows himself a second of just watching; the rise and fall of Adam’s chest, the relaxed fluttering of his eyelids. Ronan scrubs a hand over his hair to remove the raindrops clinging there, breaking the spell.

‘Parrish! What are you doing?’

Adam kept his eyes shut. He can feel the energy rolling off of Ronan even on the either side of the room. The rain always does something to him, like a kid trapped indoors with nothing to do, and the exertion of farm work usually intensifies it rather than diminishing. 

‘Listening.’ Adam says.

‘This is not the sort of music you /listen/ to.’

‘No, no, of course not. It’s the sort of music you play. To crowds. In recitals. Emphasis on the you.’ Adam thinks about keeping his eyes shut, but the urge to see whether he’s succeeded in winding Ronan up is too great. He turns his head to look at him.

Ronan does a complicated thing with his face which is a cross between a scowl and a smile. Adam grins. He knows Ronan loves Adam’s good-natured jibes, especially when they speak to knowing about the /before/ Ronan as well as the current. 

‘Okay, first, fuck you and second, that is not what I meant.’ Ronan moves beside the sofa and tilts his head so he’s looking at Adam upside down. ‘Come on.’

Adam peers up at him. Ronan’s face is all lines and sharp edges at this angle. He sits up, softening and humanising his features. ‘What?’

Grabbing Adam’s hands, Ronan hauls him upright, shuffling backwards into the centre of the room. His smile is mischievous, his eyes sparkling. Adam thinks he would do just about anything this Ronan asked.

‘Dance, Parrish.’

Adam’s cheekbones and ears flush pink. ‘Oh no. No, I don’t think so.’

Ronan grabs Adam to him, back to chest, and speaks closely into his hearing ear. ‘Oh, yes.’

Adam shivers. Even when Ronan is being unbearably roguish and playful, there is something essentially sensual about his voice. It makes him hopeless.

Ronan grabs Adam’s hand and spins him under his arm; Adam lets him. He feels ridiculous, but with Ronan jumping wildly around him in a vague and possibly offensive appropriation of an Irish jig, he feels himself relax, laughing, into his frolicking joy. 

They get through three inexplicably long and repetitive (in Adam’s opinion) pieces before he lurches, gasping to a standstill. ‘Oh my god, Ronan, stop.’ He grabs   
Ronan’s arm and hangs off of it, bent double with breathless laughter. ‘These things go on forever.’ 

Ronan finally comes to a stop, mostly because if he keeps jumping around with Adam a deadweight on his arm, he could probably do himself some serious damage.

‘You’re hopeless, Parrish. Truly hopeless.’ Ronan’s cheekbones are slightly pink with the exertion and there’s sweat beading at his temples. He’s incredibly fit, but even he’s breathless. He shakes his arm exaggeratedly to remove Adam’s grip and slopes over to the gramophone, removing the record.

‘Oh, thank god.’ Adam collapses back onto the sofa in what Ronan knows is a completely melodramatic display designed to get his attention. He smiles to himself, but doesn’t turn around.

‘I might actually be dying.’ Sarcasm softens Adam’s consonants and Ronan snorts as he rifles through the box of old vinyl. He finds what he’s looking for and slots it into place on the turntable, turning back to Adam as it crackles into life. 

Adam raises his head, tossed back in exaggeration, as Ronan approaches. He watches Ronan slot a hand into his jeans pocket, pull it out, scrub his palm on his thigh and put it back in. He clears his throat, suddenly unsure.

‘Will you dance with me?’

Adam reaches for him, twists his fingers into Ronan’s leather bracelets and stands up to meet him. He can feel Ronan’s pulse against his fingers and then his chest as he steps into Ronan’s space, pressing them flush against each other. Ronan’s hands are splayed at his sides. He breathes in, rallying himself before placing a hand on 

Adam’s lower back. Adam’s breath catches and he disentangles his fingers from leather to take Ronan’s hand in his.

‘Like this, d’you think?’ He asks, Henrietta lilting in his hushed voice.

Ronan nods, wordless. He steps slightly, swaying them and Adam exhales, resting his cheek against Ronan’s. It’s pipe music, dreamlike and mountainous, so beautiful and familiar it makes Ronan’s heart hurt. Their movements are slight, but Ronan feels the whole world moving around and beneath them as they stand, holding each other and rocking to the sound of hills and rivers and forests.

‘Adam?’ Ronan whispers, unwilling to break the spell and barely audible over the pipes and the rain on the farmhouse roof. 

‘Yeah?’ Adam murmurs.

‘I love you.’

Adam rests his head on Ronan’s shoulder and inhales the scent of him, listening to the sound of a life that crept up and surrounded him when he wasn’t looking. ‘I love you too.’

They sway together in silence until the piece ends and stand, still embracing, long after it ends, holding each other as the needle bumps against empty space.


End file.
